


Just One Yesterday

by theauthorish



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Bokuto isnt tagged as a character even though he's half the pairing, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, M/M, Theres a reason for that, writing this hurt me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 09:22:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20255821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theauthorish/pseuds/theauthorish
Summary: Bokuto and Akaashi coming together and apart-- a relationship through the seasons.Or, alternatively--Me, writing this fic: "I'm here to give you all my love / So I can watch your face as I take it all away." --Fall Out Boy, 'Just One Yesterday'





	1. Spring

**Author's Note:**

> So this... isn't a super happy fic. It's not a bad or particularly dramatic angst fic, and for a decent chunk of it, it's really just fluff. But... well... read til the end I guess, to see what makes it angst. Thanks Belee for betaing, and if there are stkll typos or errors, that's on me.

"Bokuto-san!" Keiji calls. The ball lands against his fingertips for a second, barely there, and then he pushes outward, set arching overhead. Bokuto's grin is brilliant. It's cocky, and Keiji imagines it must taste of sour-sweet orange candy. His form, when he makes his run-up, is golden.

He jumps. Spikes. It all but crashes down on the other side, a satisfying  _ smack _ against the court floor. "Hey, hey, HEY!!!" comes the cheer, as Keiji knew it would. Bokuto whirls to face him, chest puffed. He starts to speak again.

"It was great, Bokuto-san," Keiji cuts in. Immediately, Bokuto changes-- shifts from indomitable mountain of a man to a puppy with its tail wagging. Keiji doesn't let it affect him. He doesn't want to. (He thinks: it might be too warm for him to handle. He prefers colder weather.) "But we should work on your aim. That was nearly out." he says, turning away to fetch a new ball.

Bokuto squawks, arms flailing. "AkaaaaWshi!" He garbles Keiji's name like it's his to wrinkle. "It wasn't that close to out! And it was in! That's what matters!" Stubbornly, he doesn't return to position, though he catches the ball Keiji throws at him, so Keiji knows it's only for show.

"Then let's see if you can repeat it consistently," Keiji insists. "It will be quite a weapon in a match if you can."

That catches Bokuto's attention. He crows something Keiji tunes out, something that interests him infinitely less than the span of his shoulders as he says it, broad enough to hold the whole world. 

Bokuto's citrus smile is sticky sweet. Too sweet. Keiji looks away.

/////

Cherry blossoms are meant to be romantic when they're in bloom, and they really are quite a sight.

Keiji only wishes it was a sight that came with less of a hassle. He stops on the doorstep of the bookshop, brushing stray petals from his hair. He slides his jacket from his shoulders to scoop them out of his hood, his pockets.

Someone approaches behind him, and he steps aside to make room for them to pass.

"Akashi?"

Keiji blinks and lifts his head. Bokuto stands there, hands stuck into the pocket of a paint-stained hoodie. There's a hole in the corner of the pocket; Bokuto is playing with it, sticking his thumb in and out of it. Keiji wonders if he knows worrying at it like that will just make it worse. Maybe he doesn't care.

"It's Akaashi," he says, though there's really no point. Bokuto ignores it.

"What are you doing here?" Bokuto pushes open the door and waves Keiji inside ahead of him. He shuts it after them. The air inside is warmer, and Keiji is glad he's already removed his coat, as it would have made him far too uncomfortable. He ties it around his waist instead. 

"I'm buying my father a gift," Keiji answers. It's his birthday soon. In precisely three days, actually. "And you?"

"I want to see if they have any interesting manga."

"I see. Do you read many manga series, Bokuto-san?"

Bokuto shrugs. "Sometimes. I always lose my place partway through, though."

This does not surprise Keiji in the least, but he stays silent. He lets his feet guide him toward the back shelves, to where the histories and biographies lay. 

Bokuto follows. "Geh," he says, when he sees them. "These are the boring books." He glances at the titles, fingers at the covers. He even picks up a few. Keiji doesn't really understand why he bothers, if he doesn't like them. Then again, he rarely ever understands, when Bokuto is involved. Not unless it comes to his moods.

"Not all of them," Keiji says mildly. "Although admittedly, it's not something I'd choose for myself either, unless I was terribly curious. It's my father who enjoys them." It is his gift, after all.

Bokuto nods, and holds one up. It seems to be about an old shogun. "What about this one? The cover's cool."

Keiji takes it from Bokuto's hands. "It's too much," he says, when he sees the price. It's a shame. "He would have liked it too…"

"Oh. That's too bad." Bokuto pauses, thinking. "I could--"

"That's not necessary, Bokuto-san," Keiji says, picking up a different one. This one seems to be about an old courtier. It's not quite as heavy or as elegantly illustrated as the one Bokuto had shown him, but it's similar, in a sense. Keiji decides to get it.

"But--"

"No, Bokuto-san. It's quite all right, I couldn't ask you to pay for a gift for someone you hardly know."

"How did you know I was going to offer?" Bokuto demands, sounding almost… put out. Keiji probably shouldn't tell him he's generally as easy to read as ten-foot neon lights, then.

Keiji shrugs his shoulders, and turns down the aisles to find the manga. Bokuto trails after him, steps getting bouncier as they get closer to the colorful covers of the volumes. "Call it intuition," he says, though he knows Bokuto is no longer paying him any mind.

Instead, Bokuto has gone over to the first shelf, picking up the ones with the flashiest covers and turning them over to read the synopses. He oohs and aahs at the summaries like they're movie trailers. The only other patron nearby gives him an odd look, but it goes unnoticed.

Keiji certainly is not endeared by this. Not at all. In fact, when they leave, respective purchases in hand, he's already forgotten the way Bokuto's voice had lilted, softer than Keiji has ever heard it.

And when they step outside just to be showered in a flurry of petals-- well, cherry blossoms are meant to be romantic, but this is most definitely not a shoujo manga. Keiji steps back from Bokuto's attempts to brush the flowers from his person, and does it himself.

/////

"Hey, 'Kaashee!"

Keiji sighs, ignoring the puzzled looks his classmates shoot his way. They all know who Bokuto is and how he knows Keiji. They just don't understand why he's here right now. Keiji doesn't have an answer for them. 

He gets to his feet, neatly shutting his bento just in case Bokuto decides to drag him off before he can protest. It's happened before, though that time had been at training camp.

"Yes, Bokuto-san?" He asks, as he reaches the door. Bokuto's uniform, he can't help but note, is a mess as always. Without thinking, he brushes the unidentifiable crumbs scattered across his lapels.

"Are you done eating?"

Keiji glances back at his desk. His chopsticks are still out, his furoshiki still undone. Beside his bento, there are two riceballs, wrapped in plastic and untouched. He turns back to Bokuto. He contemplates being snarky. He chooses not to be. "No."

"Great, me neither," Bokuto says. At Keiji's raised brow, he quickly backtracks, "Well, I ate, but I'm still hungry, so I'm gonna go get more at the cafeteria, and I thought--"

"Bokuto-san," Keiji interrupts, before he can really get rambling. "What did you come for?"

"Well, would you like to join me? I'm goin' to the roof. The other third-years might come. They might not. I don't know. But do you wanna?"

Keiji hesitates, but then Bokuto shoots him a hopeful smile, and he knows he can't say no. "Very well. Just let me get my food." He mourns the loss of his silent breaks, so often used for thinking or finishing homework early to make space for the late practices. He has a sense that this will be regular, soon enough.

But maybe it would be good for him to get some extra sunlight.

He returns to his seat and packs up his food again. He takes his homework in his free hand, and joins Bokuto where he's shifting from foot to foot at the class entrance.

"Lead the way, Bokuto-san."

So Bokuto does.

/////

"Bokuto-san, please," Keiji sighs, hauling the overexcited captain back down to be seated on the floor once more. "This really should be your job, at least help."

"I am helping!"

No, he isn't. They're supposed to be preparing for training camp, sorting through permission slips and medical certificates, checking that everyone has submitted their requirements and that the other arrangements are all in order. Instead, Keiji is doing all that, and Bokuto is spinning some highly exaggerated tales of the training camp the year before.

Keiji does not need to hear them. He had been present for last year's camp. Just the thought of it makes him grimace, lest he smile and encourage Bokuto.

Keiji goes through the papers again. He huffs a breath. "Bokuto-san, your permission slip is the only one that's missing."

"Ah, no it's not!" Bokuto fishes in his pocket for a moment, and then pulls out a crumpled paper ball. He holds it aloft like it's a holy grail. "It's here!"

Keiji's grimace settles a little deeper into his mouth, but he takes it, painstakingly smoothing it out so the words are legible. It has, indeed, been signed. With another, softer sigh, Keiji ticks the box beside Bokuto's name on the list and lets him pick up his story where he left off.

Why he does this, when by all accounts, this is not his job… he doesn't know.

/////

Bokuto is on the verge of failing off the team. This is an issue because while without their ace, Fukurodani may still be strong, they are far, far better off with him present. No one else on the team is quite as inspiring, nor as grounding.

The other third-years don't want to do it, or otherwise can't, and so the role of tutoring (babysitting) falls to Keiji. He figures it could be worse. At least he's in an advanced class, so he won't be entirely clueless. And next year, he'll already have a foundation for his subjects, if he learns them now to help Bokuto.

After practice that Saturday, Bokuto walks with Keiji to his apartment. It's tiny and cramped, and feels all the more so when someone as massive as Bokuto is squeezing into the genkan beside Keiji, who is by no means small himself.

"Huh," Bokuto says.

"You can leave your shoes there," Keiji tells him, pointing at the metal rack tucked against one wall. "I'll just get you slippers." He slips off his own shoes, sets them neatly on the top shelf and then shuffles to the entryway closet. He cracks it open, fishes around in one corner until he finds a pair. It looks like it will fit. He holds them out to Bokuto. "Here."

Bokuto takes them and drops them to the floor, slipping his sock-clad feet into them carelessly. Keiji peels off his socks. He steps into his own slippers. "This way."

When they reach his room, Keiji deposits his socks in his laundry hamper. The pajamas he'd left scattered across his bedspread follow them shortly.

"Huh," Bokuto says again, with more impact this time.

"Yes?"

"It's just…" Bokuto starts. "I didn't think you'd be messy, 'Kaash-kash."

"Please don't call me that," Keiji deadpans. He sets his bag down by his desk, gesturing for Bokuto to do the same. "Let's start with your English, Bokuto-san. You seem to be better at that subject than the others."

"Akaaaashiieee, can't we have snacks first?" 

"No. Please sit down and take out your worksheet."

"How did you know I had a worksheet?"

Keiji sighs, scratching at his chin to hide the twitch of his lips. "Konoha-san sent me a scan of his. And before you ask, English is something I'm particularly good at, so though I don't know your lessons exactly, I should be of some assistance. Now, worksheet, please."

With a groan, Bokuto slumps over. Like the weight of this burden is too much to carry. Keiji merely rolls his eyes.

When Bokuto straightens, homework in hand, Keiji directs him to sit at his desk. "Answer it, please. Then we'll discuss your answers and your errors."

Bokuto pouts. "Who says I'll have errors? What if I get perfect?"

Keiji says nothing. "Work please, Bokuto-san. I'll finish up some of my math so later we can work on yours."

Bokuto grumbles, but he sets to work as seriously as he does anything, brow furrowed, world beyond the paper and his pen forgotten. 

Keiji smiles quietly to himself.


	2. Summer

The first day of summer break is clammy and awful. Keiji wears as little as he can get away with-- a flimsy tank with a dragon on it that his mother had given him, and a pair of cargo shorts. It's even worse because he's  _ outside.  _ In the heat of the sun.

When Bokuto finally arrives, late by twenty minutes, Keiji glares balefully at him. He's sweat far too much for his liking. If it were anyone else he'd been waiting for, he's sure he would have been long gone.

"Sorry!" Bokuto says, not a trace of remorse in his tone. "I couldn't find my wallet. I was gonna just come without it, but then I realized I couldn't buy anything if I didn't bring it, so--"

Bokuto finally wilts under Keiji's glower. "I'll buy you ice cream?" He offers.

Keiji huffs, pointedly, but he nods.

"All right!" Bokuto cheers, beaming wide. Keiji might be blinded, and he can't quite decide if he wants to be annoyed at that too. "Let's go get some shoes then!"

They make their way to the sports store, Bokuto happily bouncing ahead. He skips back to Keiji every now and then, where he walks at a moderate pace-- he refuses to go slow, as he doesn't want to bake any more than he already has (he doesn't look very good with a tan), but if he goes too fast, surely the exertion will make him even stickier with sweat and humidity, and his muscles will ache unpleasantly.

Bokuto had asked him last week if he'd like to come today. Apparently, he needed a new pair of sneakers, as his were no longer supporting him as they should. Keiji had been meaning to buy a new roll of sports tape himself, so he'd agreed.

And now they're here, browsing among the shelves of the athletic store of a shopping center that was nearly at the exact midpoint between Bokuto's and Keiji's apartments. Neither of them have been here before, but Kuroo had assured them both that the prices were fair, and there was usually at least one rack marked on sale.

"What about this one?" Bokuto holds up a multi-colored shoe, looking like it's been covered in spilled highlighter vomit. Keiji takes a step back; it may be radioactive. He thinks it might be glowing.

"No."

"Oh. Okay. I guess it's too funky."

Keiji isn't sure 'funky' is the word he'd use, but as long as it means he won't have to see those monstrosities at practice… "Sure," he says.

Bokuto sets them down, and as he starts to gravitate towards a pair that look to be made entirely of gold foil, Keiji knows he must interfere for the greater good. "Bokuto-san," he calls, stopping him in his tracks. "How about those?" He points at a perfectly ordinary pair. They're in Fukurodani colors, actually-- with black stripes accented with gold flecks, with the main body a pure white. Curious, Keiji picks it up and weighs it in his hand. "It's surprisingly lightweight," he mutters, mostly to himself at this point. "Considering its appearance, I'd thought it would be heavier."

"Lemme see!" Bokuto scoops up the other half of the pair. "Oh," he says, blinking. "It really is light." He pokes at the sole. "And so  _ soft _ ." His eyes are sparkling. The gold foil shoes have been forgotten.

Keiji raises a brow, mouth quirking at the corner. "Will you get these then?"

"Yeah!"

It takes them a little while to get the box with Bokuto's size from the bottom of the stack. It takes them a little longer for Bokuto to try them on, and for Keiji to talk Bokuto down from trying on the neon pair too, 'just in case'.

Keiji herds Bokuto to the counter, picking up his tape on the way. He gets a couple of packs of salonpas too, since he's here anyway. "Oh, he's with me," Bokuto says to cashier, plucking Keiji's items from his hands.

"Bokuto-san--" Keiji starts, but it's too late. The items have been scanned. He's perfectly willing to hassle the employee a bit to have it cancelled and separated, as his purchase  _ ought _ to be--

But there's something about Bokuto's smile that gives him pause. "It's okay, 'Kashiee! It's not  _ that _ much, and you came all the way out here to help me pick out shoes! And you found me such a nice pair!" He chirps. Keiji's mouth runs dry. It really isn't that big a deal at all. None of those things are. Still, Bokuto looks so pleased.

Keiji sighs. "All right, but I'll pay for the ice cream."

"Nuh-uh!" The cashier hands them their bags. They leave the store. "I promised to treat you, remember! Because you waited."

"You already bought--" Keiji starts.

"Akaash', I  _ will  _ fight you."

"You'll lose."

Bokuto laughs, long and bright. Keiji's brow furrows. It's hardly that laughable an idea. "With these guns?" Bokuto taunts, flexing his arms. They glisten in the sunlight. Keiji is mildly horrified to find he's ogling. He's mostly disappointed that Bokuto's shirt has sleeves.

Keiji's gaze flickers away, ahead. "Yes."

Bokuto grins and nudges his side. "Oh yeah?" He says. Challenges.

Keiji takes him up on it. "You're very easy to understand, Bokuto-san." He steps close. Closer still. Bokuto stares at him, eyes wide, bewildered but trusting despite the words that preceded this. When Keiji lifts a hand to cup Bokuto's cheek in one hand, Bokuto leans into it without hesitation. He rolls up just a little onto the balls of his feet, mouth right by Bokuto's ear. "I don't need strength to trip you up, you see?" he murmurs.

Bokuto goes rigid, red as a rose in full bloom. He makes a sound vaguely reminiscent of a dying cat. Or something.

His other hand plucks Bokuto's wallet from his pocket, and Keiji backs away, smirking. "You can have this back  _ after _ I pay for our ice cream."

" _ What _ !" Bokuto yelps, trying to snatch it back, embarrassment forgotten. Keiji is too nimble to let him succeed. "No fair! Akaashie! You betrayed me!"

"I'll make it up to you," Keiji promises, smile softening. 

" _ No fair _ ," Bokuto whines again, hiding his face in his hands. His ears are tinged pink.

He stops attempting to reclaim his wallet. Keiji rewards him by curling their pinkies together, cheeks warm.

/////

His phone ringing drags him into wakefulness far earlier than his alarm should be going off.

"Hello?" He mutters, into the receiver.

"Are you up, 'Kaashe?"

Keiji grumbles. Bokuto-- why isn't he surprised? "No," he drawls. "I'm sleep-talking."

"Hey, don't be mean!" On the other end, Bokuto shuffles around. 

Keiji rubs the sleep from his eyes, forcing himself not to drift off again. Bokuto had called him for a reason. "Don't ask ridiculous questions then, Bokuto-san," he says, as evenly as he can around the tiredness.

Bokuto huffs, and it's some mixture of sulky and amused. Softly, he says, "Sorry. I know we have to be up early tomorrow for training camp."

"It's all right." Keiji should not say that. He's already an awful person in the mornings, and lacking sleep is only going to worsen it. But it's too late to take it back now, and anyway, Keiji doesn't have the heart to hang up, not without knowing why Bokuto seems so subdued all of a sudden. "Why did you call?"

Bokuto sighs, and it must be Keiji's imagination when he feels it tickle his ear, tease at his hair. "I don't know. I just felt… sad."

"Sad?" Keiji echoes. Had he had a downswing so late? What had set it off? Why--

"There's no reason for it, really," Bokuto mumbles, and he shifts on a bed that  _ must  _ be too small, too old for him, because Keiji hears it creak even through the distance. "I just. I was fine. And then I wasn't." His voice is quiet. Almost a whisper.

The Bokuto Koutarou Keiji was familiar with didn't even have the word whisper in his dictionary. 

"Why not?" Keiji prompts, soft and coaxing-- more uncertain than he has ever been, for how often he handles Bokuto, though he tries to mask it.

"Dunno."

Keiji waits.

"Was lonely, I think-- am," Bokuto says. "Am lonely."

_ Oh _ . Keiji wants to reach out. To-- to ground Bokuto somehow. He cannot. He runs a hand absently through his hair instead, fingers working at the knots that had formed in his sleep. "Is there no one in the house with you?"

"Parents are abroad. Work trip."

"I see."

The silence stretches, and Keiji wants to fill it. How odd. He usually enjoys the quiet. But now? Now he longs for words to say, for stories or questions, for anything at all to distract Bokuto from whatever emptiness is hounding him tonight.

Bokuto chuckles; gently, he says, "Sorry, Akaash'. It's late, you were just the first person I--" He cuts himself off, but Keiji can fill in the blank.  _ Thought of _ . Keiji had been his first thought. It fills Keiji's heart with something warm and honey-gold. Something that tastes like sunlight through the trees and feels like music carried on the wind. "I shouldn't have--"

"I told you it was all right," Keiji chides, before he can continue, before he can finish that sentence. He tilts his head, tries to find something to say. He sees only his desk, his school things. His haphazardly scattered clothes. His single anime poster. "I am… not good at talking," he mumbles. "Please give me a moment to find something to tell you."

"You don't need to."

"I know."  _ I want to _ .

Outside his window, the streetlight flickers, dowsing Keiji in shadow before chasing the dark away again. He looks, and the sky is a blank slate, too dusty with light pollution for Keiji to pick out any stars. But it gives him an idea. "Do you know about Alpha Centauri, Bokuto-san?" he murmurs.

Bokuto hems and haws for a bit, wracking his brain. "No. It sounds kinda like a… band? Is it a band, 'Kashi? Or maybe a weird sci-fi movie."

"It's a star. Well, actually, two of them. They're a binary pair," Keiji explains.

"I don't know what that means, Akashe, you're too smart for me," Bokuto says, but his voice lilts, teasing. 

Keiji smiles. "Hush. I'm getting to the definition. It means they orbit around the same center. They're so close that they look like the same point of light."

"Really?" Bokuto yawns. "'Kashie, will you tell me more about them?

"You see…"

/////

Bokuto decides quite out of nowhere that they should visit a beach. Keiji caves, as he always does lately.

Maybe he's been spending too much time in Bokuto's company. Especially without a buffer between them. He doesn't mind in the slightest, but it does make him wonder.

It's just the two of them, since Bokuto can drive. He's recently gotten his license, and Keiji knows from experience that Bokuto is actually a very safe driver, as long as Kuroo isn't involved ( _ that _ experience had been nigh on traumatizing, and Keiji never speaks of it). Bokuto switches off the aircon and rolls down the windows so the wind can whip at their clothes and their hair and their everything. The radio is too loud, and Bokuto's singing is off-key. The lyrics are half nonsense he makes up on the spot.

Keiji hums along despite himself. Bokuto beams.

Bokuto leads them down to the shore, carrying a beach umbrella in one hand, borrowed off… someone. Keiji doesn't know. Bokuto's other hand hold some towels for them to sit on, as well as the box with their food.

Keiji sets down the cooler and the bag of necessities (sunblock, the like) to help him set up. That finished, Bokuto bounces in place, vibrant and excited. "AkaaaAaAshiiIe," he drawls, "let's--"

"Not yet," Keiji says, a shake of his head, a palm raised to stop the oncoming torrent of pleading and pestering. He unzips their bag, finds the bottle of sunscreen. "Come here."

Bokuto makes a face and looks ready to protest.

"You can't play volleyball with sunburn, Bokuto-san." Pointedly, Keiji squirts some into his hand, rubbing it onto his arms. "I'll put it on for you, if you like," he offers, spreading some along his neck, his face. He pours out a little more and reaches for his legs. "As long as you stay still."

Bokuto fidgets for a long moment, not quite swayed. Keiji fights the urge to roll his eyes (fond though it might be) and beckons him closer with one hand. "At the very least, do my back. I can't reach easily."

"Okay, okay," Bokuto sighs, but he skips when he approaches, not bothered at all. "Gimme."

Keiji presses the bottle into his hand, their fingers glancing off each other, warm and calloused, skin a tad rough from the sport they love so much. Keiji thinks,  _ they'll feel so nice _ . He thinks,  _ they probably give nice massages; they're really quite strong… _

Quietly, carefully, so Bokuto doesn't notice, Keiji ducks his head to hide his blush. Bokuto squeezes out some sunscreen--  _ too much _ , Keiji thinks. Just a bit too much. "Lie down," Bokuto tells him, rubbing his hands together, spreading the cream over his palms and fingers. Keiji doesn't think it's necessary; Bokuto can apply it on him perfectly well while they stand, or even sit. Still, he doesn't complain. He does as he's told.

Bokuto smiles at him, sweet. Always so sweet. He works the sunscreen into Keiji's skin with gentle pressure, using his knuckles and his palms and the tips of his fingers. It feels nice. Keiji sighs, eyes fluttering shut.

Bokuto's hands are just as warm and lovely as he knew they would be.

It takes another fifteen minutes and a bribe of sets later (Bokuto brought a ball, because of course he did) to coax Bokuto into sitting still long enough for Keiji to apply the sunblock. The lotion is smooth and cool, and Bokuto jumps a bit, at the first touch of it. He shivers under Keiji's gentle touch, muscles shifting as he moves when Keiji tells him to, to allow him to reach all the important places. Keiji is tempted, so very tempted…

But now is not the time, nor is here the place.

Bokuto wants to play in the water, but he changes his mind soon enough. He's barely taken three steps from their umbrella when he catches sight of a child building a sandcastle, and he declares, "We can make one too!"

"With what tools, Bokuto-san," Keiji mutters, more to himself than anything. Bokuto has already picked out a spot on the shore for them to build, the sand still damp and somewhat solid from earlier's high tide. It's close enough to both the water and the loose sand, but without a bucket or even a shovel, Keiji wonders how much use it'll be.

He decides to let Bokuto discover that for himself though. So he plays along, scoops sand and water together, tries to shape it in his hands like a potter would clay. "It's more a mountain than anything," Keiji says, wrinkling his nose five minutes later. It's just a mound of wet sand. Not a castle at all.

"Heh, you're right. Mount Bokuto! Doesn't that sound cool, 'Kaashe?"

Keiji is pretty certain Bokuto is a mountain in his own right, and naming this tiny one after himself is not only redundant but mildly demeaning, but he only says, "Sure."

"Sound more enthusiastic, Akashie!" Bokuto complains, reaching for the sea with one hand and flicking water into Keiji's face. 

Keiji sputters. He raises an eyebrow, as well as a hand to wipe his face clean. "I think, Bokuto-san, you'll come to regret that," he says simply.

Bokuto has already leapt to his feet, grinning wildly as he backs slowly into the surf. "I dunno, Akash', your face was kinda funny. Not feelin' a whole lotta regret."

Keiji stands. "You will," he promises, and with a smirk of his own, he chases after Bokuto.

/////

Keiji doesn't normally care for the summer festivals. For the most part, he finds them too loud, too crowded, too hot.

Now, his opinion is much the same, but he finds he's willing, for once, to withstand the inconvenience at Bokuto's request. He's overflowing with earnest joy and wide-eyed wonder, so much so that Keiji can't find it in himself to turn him down.

It helps that Bokuto has bribed him with as much of the food as he pleases, though Keiji has no idea how he's earned the money he uses to pay for it all.

"Let's play a game, 'Kashy." Bokuto drags him off almost before Keiji has managed to toss his trash. Bokuto brings them to a fish-scooping booth, and as he fumbles to find his wallet, Keiji scoops out his own and drops a handful of yen into the vendor's hand in exchange for two paddles.

Bokuto blinks, lips parting to speak-- probably to protest his paying, or offer to reimburse him-- but Keiji shakes his head. "It's all right. Let's just play, Bokuto-san."

So they do. Keiji scoops out exactly four goldfish before he feigns carelessness and lets his net get ripped. Bokuto's managed to scoop one, before having to forfeit; his enthusiasm has not served him so well, here, in a task requiring grace and dexterity just as much as it does speed. Keiji smiles and asks the vendor if his fish can be bagged with Bokuto's. 

"I can't keep them," he says, when Bokuto asks. "I can barely raise my plants, and they're  _ cacti _ ." He offers up a hint of a smile. "Besides, I think you can care for them well. They'll be happy with you."

" _ Do _ fish get happy?" Bokuto mumbles, brow furrowing. "I like to think so. I dunno though."

Keiji stares, and then he can't help it-- he laughs. "Why is that your first question?" He asks, soft and bemused.

"What else should I ask?"

"Where you could keep them, maybe. Or what supplies we will have to buy for them," Keiji suggests, hiding his smile behind his hand. 

Bokuto laughs too; a counterpoint to Keiji's, it's loud, echoing. It's so bright Keiji almost thinks the fireworks have started early, set off by the spark of Bokuto's cheer, blooming in the colors of his heart.

"You have a point! You always do, Ak'shee." His smile is the warmest thing Keiji has ever known. "You're really smart."

Keiji's face is red, he knows. "Thank you."

Above them, the sky explodes into light. "Hey, Akashe, can I… can I kiss you? I'd really like to. I mean, you're--"

"Yes, you may," Keiji interrupts. He reaches down, tentative. Bokuto allows him to lace their fingers together. Keiji's heart swells.

Bokuto's smile is familiar and yet not: it trembles with his giddiness, his contagious love for life, and at the same time, it's so shy, so hesitant. Keiji wants to hoard this version of Bokuto's smile all for himself.

He'd always imagined it would taste sweet, but Keiji finds it doesn't taste much like anything, just the barest hint of something sour.


	3. Fall

Keiji thinks that autumn is quite the artist. The trees and their leaves are brushed in red and gold and orange, the ground shaded in browns… 

He only wishes it weren't so messy with its craft.

Bokuto, on the other hand, delights in it all. He loves the crackle of the foliage beneath his feet, the splashes of color scattered anywhere there is a flat surface. He likes to pile them up into small mounds and jump, sending them flying every which way.

Keiji would find it adorable if he weren't busy trying to rake a spot of the courtyard clear enough for them to play volleyball in without risking injury. At Bokuto's request, might he add.

"Bokuto-san," he sighs.

"Sorry! Sorry. I forgot."

"This is the fourth time," Keiji points out, quirking up a brow. 

Bokuto's chuckle is sheepish and unfairly cute. "Yeah…"

Keiji puts the rake down, and beckons Bokuto closer. "How about you let me keep the volleyball, and then we can play with the leaves? We play volleyball everyday anyway." Also, he would really like to stop raking.

For a moment, Bokuto frowns. Keiji knows (by the lip caught between his teeth and the crease of his brow) that he's just thinking, and isn't upset by the proposal, so he waits patiently as Bokuto weighs the pros and cons in his mind-- whatever they might be. Finally, he says, "'Kay." 

He hands Keiji the ball, picking up the rake in its place. "Can I make a  _ big  _ pile?"

"I don't see why not," Keiji tells him with a shrug. He twirls the ball in his palms idly. "Just be careful you don't rake up anything sharp or otherwise dangerous. I'll just bring this back inside." Normally, he'd simply set it aside, but with Bokuto, he worries that he'll be so caught up in whatever antics occur that he'll forget about it and leave it behind; Bokuto has likely already forgotten about it, entire focus dedicated to his current task.

And so, Keiji heads into the apartment building and takes the stairs up to the third floor rather than calling down one of the ancient elevators. He deposits the ball back in his room where it came from, and then jogs back down to the ground floor.

Bokuto has already gathered up a substantial amount of leaves. It looks like he's somehow managed to collect half of what had been covering the courtyard, despite the short time of Keiji's absence.

It's almost unfathomable, but Keiji supposes this is the burden of the ace. Making miracles, or at the very least, near-miracles. Anyway, Bokuto has always been a very determined guy, and quite frankly, is far more capable than he sometimes makes himself appear.

(Keiji thinks of nights spent lying side by side, of touches so gentle, so loving, it seems too good to be true. Keiji thinks of how fast Bokuto learned his weak points, how easily he can make Keiji sigh, gasp, blush-- with the stroke of a finger, a fluttering kiss against his neck, a murmured phrase.)

"There!" Bokuto declares, dropping the rake with a clatter and whirling to grin at Keiji. He extends a hand. "Jump with me?"

When Keiji answers, "Yes," it feels a lot like he's saying, "Always."

/////

Though he's hardly a damsel in distress or a lady in need of courting, Keiji acquiesces easily enough when Bokuto insists on walking him everywhere, including to school, though Bokuto's apartment is far nearer to campus than Keiji's.

"You really don't need to keep making the trip here," Keiji sighs with a smile, after bidding his parents goodbye and slipping on his shoes. He reaches to fix Bokuto's askew tie. "I can handle myself, and anyway, it's impractical."

"It's romantic!" Bokuto protests. Keiji has only just let go of his tie, and he's moving to loosen it again. Keiji swats at his fingers, and he drops them sheepishly. "And I like exercise anyway!" He continues. 

"Bokuto-san, if you'd like,  _ I _ could walk  _ you _ to school," Keiji suggests, though in his mind, they're walking together either way, does it really matter who goes to meet who? They start walking, Keiji fixing his scarf to sit more securely around his neck. "It would be easier on you, and that would still be romantic, wouldn't it?"

Bokuto makes a sound of anguish, pouting his best pout at Keiji. Keiji is unimpressed. (Mostly.) "It's not the same!" He insists. "You're obviously the prettier boyfriend, Akashiee, so I gotta catch up somehow!"

Keiji's nose wrinkles, and he turns away in a futile effort to hide the flush that spreads across his face. How Bokuto can say these things so easily, he doesn't know. "That's not true. I like you as you are, there's no need to compete." He pauses. Under his breath, he adds, "Otherwise, I'd have to spend my whole life working to compare to those muscle of yours."

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

Bokuto lets it be, humming softly to himself instead. The weather has gotten much cooler, for which Keiji is grateful for, but Bokuto… Bokuto, Keiji thinks with resignation, has forgotten his extra coat, and he is starting to shiver, though he hasn't complained yet. Keiji would like to keep it that way.

Keiji unwinds the scarf from his shoulders. "Bokuto-san," he calls. 

Bokuto stops. "Yeah?" At a gesture from Keiji, he comes closer. "What's wrong?"

Keiji shakes his head, tugging Bokuto another step closer. "Nothing." He reaches up, wraps the scarf around Bokuto's neck as properly as he can. "You looked cold, is all."

Bokuto's cheeks are pink, though how such a small action has flustered him, Keiji will never know. "You-- You're really great, Akaashi," Bokuto tells him, with the brightest smile.

Keiji leans in and pecks his cheek. "As are you."

/////

With the fall comes rain, and Keiji isn't particularly surprised when a day comes that both he and Bokuto forget their umbrellas, and get caught up in the shower on their way home. They're close enough to Bokuto's place, at least, so they agree to go there and wait it out until Keiji can go home.

Bokuto lends him clothes, though they're a little too loose, and lets him use the shower first. Keiji emerges smelling like Bokuto's shampoo-- minty, which makes him feel a little like he's dipped himself in toothpaste. He tells Bokuto as much, if only because he knows it will make him laugh.

Bokuto goes and takes his turn under the warm water. When he returns, laying his head in Keiji's lap where he's seated on the bed, Keiji can't resist the urge to card his fingers through Bokuto's hair, soft and ungelled for once. "You always do this," Bokuto chuckles. "Do you like my hair that much?"

"Looking for roots," Keiji replies, teasingly. He knows Bokuto's hair is naturally this color. It's just funny watching him get worked up about it.

"There aren't any! I told ya before it's really how I was born!" Bokuto laughs. He doesn't move to stop Keiji from doing it.

Keiji glances out the window, at the rain that has only gotten harder. "Could I stay here, tonight, just in case? I don't think the rain will let up until late," he asks. "Then I'll either have my parents drop off my uniform tomorrow or we can walk to get it."

Bokuto says, "Of course," like it should have been obvious. "Ma already said she'd cook for you, remember? And that you could use the guest futon." This was true. She'd said so as soon as they'd walked through the door, drenched with rainwater. "I'll go now and tell her you'll be staying, if you want, but she won't mind."

"It's all right. I'll tell her myself when we go down to dinner. Let me text my parents." He types out a quick message. Almost immediately, his phone pings with the reply, a simple,  _ Sure, behave for them. _

"We should do homework," Keiji murmurs, as he keeps his phone away again, nudging at Bokuto's shoulder. "Come on. Up."

Bokuto groans, snatching Keiji's wrists in his hands to stop him from doing it again. "Nooooo," he whines. "Don't wanna."

Keiji knows. Bokuto never wants to. "Too bad," he says, unsympathetic. "We have to do it. You have grades to maintain." Hands restrained, he bounces his knee (and therefore Bokuto's head) instead. "Up."

" _ Fine _ ." Bokuto lets him go, sitting up slowly. Keiji stands and crosses the room to Bokuto's desk, where his schoolbag has been dumped unceremoniously, same as every other day. He unzips it, fishes out the right folder, then zips it closed again, setting it neatly on the chair.

An envelope falls to the floor, dragged off the desk by one of the backpack's straps.

Keiji blinks at it, and then stoops to pick it up. "Oh," he says, when he reads the back. It's from a college in Osaka.

"Wha--  _ oh _ ." Bokuto's gaze flickers from the letter, to Keiji's eyes, to the room around him, to the folder in his hands. "That's… uh."

The rain outside is loud, but Keiji cannot hear it. The echoing in his heart is louder-- empty space where none should be, where Bokuto had always sat. It hits Keiji now; Bokuto is a third-year, and with the next spring fast approaching, so too is his graduation.

Keiji will be alone again, will have the peace and quiet he had cultivated for himself before meeting Bokuto.

There is nothing pleasant about the thought.

"An acceptance letter so early?" He asks instead of all the things he wants to.  _ Why do you need to go so far away? Why not stay with me?  _

Bokuto swallows, almost as if he is nervous. But why? Keiji is happy for him. He should be happy for him. (It is so hard to be, though.) "Not an acceptance, really. They're thinking of scouting me, but they want to check my grades and stuff too. It's a good thing you helped me study this year, huh, 'Kaash?"

Keiji smiles, weak and shaky despite his best efforts. Bokuto deserves better than this, he knows. He deserves undying support and celebratory cheers. But this is all Keiji can offer him. "Yes, I suppose. I--"

"Hey, hey!" Bokuto yelps, leaping off the bed to gather Keiji into a hug. "None of that yet. No goodbyes yet. There's still a lot of the year left!"

"Bokuto-san, I--"

" _ Nope! _ " He presses a noisy smooch against Keiji's hair, like that might somehow drown out Keiji's voice. "None of that," he repeats. "None- ity-none-none."

Keiji huffs a laugh. "You're ridiculous," he says, tender as the caress of Bokuto's palms, warm as they trace up and down his spine. Comforting. Loving.

"Yeah, but so are you, y'know! I mean your shirts alone are--"

Bokuto cackles and dodges as Keiji tries to pinch him.

Perhaps he is right. There is still plenty of time between then and now, and he might as well enjoy the present he has been gifted with.

/////

The izakaya they find themselves in feels too small for them, a team of too many players, all long limbs and lean muscle and top-of-the-world pride. They've won. They won again, they really did.

Keiji doesn't know whether to cheer or sob. Victory is heady on his tongue and electricity in his veins. The end of the tournament is a lead weight in his chest and a lump in his throat.

It's time for goodbyes. At least, one of them.

Bokuto is recounting in extremely loud, extremely over-embellished detail his last spike, the one that won the game. The team is humoring him, egging him on. Though normally, Keiji would have put a stop to it, he figures if there was any justification for Bokuto to inflate his own ego, winning them a spot at Nationals a second time in a row would do it.

Especially when the next time Bokuto brags about a game, it will be one played with a different team, in a different place.

Keiji feels his eyes sting and faces away. Too bright. One must never look directly at the sun, less so for long periods of time, he counsels himself.

But he cannot ignore Bokuto for long. When he finishes his thrilling tale, he settles down, almost uncharacteristic in his solemnity. His smile is benevolent, and Keiji knows what is coming. He dreads it.

He is not ready for this.

Bokuto says, as the food arrives, "Dig in guys! This is the last time I'm treating, y'know? Next year you'll need to bug your new captain to feed you black holes." The table laughs, and the team members jostle one another, tease.  _ He was talking about you _ , says one.  _ You wish, you're projecting _ , replies another.

Keiji's heart sinks to his feet. "But speaking of that," Bokuto continues. "I'm sure you all know who will be captain. I talked to the coaches, and to each of you--" Keiji knows this to be true. He wishes, wryly, that Bokuto had been so captainly for more than just his last week of duty. He wishes his term of duty could never end. "But I think it would be good! To announce it formally!" 

Bokuto drags Keiji into a sideways hug, squeezing his shoulder lightly.  _ You're okay _ , he means. Keiji is not, but he attempts a smile anyway. For Bokuto's sake.

"Akaashi Keiji!" Bokuto beams. His voice is grand and thunderous, and he has for once said Keiji's name correctly. It somehow makes Keiji feel sadder. "You'll be a great captain. Not as great as me," he jokes, "but still great. The team trusts you. And I do too!"

"Thank you," Keiji whispers. He cannot say it louder. He will cry if he does. He is sure of it.

Bokuto turns to the team. "Take care of your new captain for me, okay?" A chorus of voices agree.

When Bokuto shifts his arm to release Keiji, Keiji stops him, catching at his hand and tugging it back into place.

Bokuto smiles (warm, so warm) and eats his gyudon one-handed, just so he can keep holding onto Keiji.

/////

The train station is too crowded for the current scene to feel as dramatic as it was in Keiji's head, every time he'd imagined it until now. 

It's noisy and bustling as always. Instead of longing gazes and slow goodbyes, there's a whole lot of jostling, raised voices to be heard over the chatter. Instead of traded promises and whispered nothings, there's a whole lot of losing each other among the crowd until they lace their fingers as tightly as possible.

It feels like any other day, all in all. The only difference is this: though Bokuto is coming back, his trip today is in preparation for a more permanent departure. 

The difference is this: Keiji will feel this absence far longer than it lasts, because where Bokuto is going today-- that's the place where Bokuto will belong to, in the coming spring. A place where Keiji isn't, and will never be. It simply isn't his way, to choose a school to chase after a relationship. The school simply isn't among his choices.

"Keiiiiiiijjjjiiiiiiiii," Bokuto drawls, squeezing his hand as they come to a stop before the turnstiles, where Keiji must leave him. "Don't look so down! I'll be back after the weekend!"

Keiji hopes he isn't pouting, but by the tone of his voice when he speaks, the odds are against him. "This time, maybe. But the move will be permanent eventually. That's why you're touring the campus and searching for living space, right? Because you will most likely go there."

Bokuto pulls him into a hug, pecks his forehead, the apples of his cheeks, the tip of his nose. His lips, his lips, his lips. Bokuto's are dry from the cold. Keiji had best remind him to use his chapstick. "Keiji," he murmurs. "Nothing could make me forget you! Y'know! Your sets are the bestest ever!"

Keiji's eyebrows rise. "Is that all."

Bokuto flushes, hands flailing. "No, nono wait! That's-- Keiji!!!" He complains, as Keiji starts laughing at his expense-- but he doesn't seem offended at all, mouth curled in a smile of his own. "You're the greatest person ever! My bestest friend in the world!"

"'Bestest' isn't a word, Bokuto-san," Keiji cuts in. He is ignored for the most part, but Bokuto rolls his eyes to show he heard. Keiji snickers.

Bokuto continues, "And I… uh." He goes very, very red suddenly, and Keiji worries for a beat that perhaps he is sick. But no, he realizes, as Bokuto rubs sheepishly at the back of his neck. He's only… shy. About what?

"Yes?"

"I… I love you. A lot. Y'know. So like. I'll be back. And I'll visit. And I'll talk to you lots, and--"

Keiji slaps a hand over Bokuto's mouth to stop his babbling, and raises the other-- trembling and weak and  _ oh gods, Bokuto loves him _ \-- to cover his own in shock. The picture they present must be comical. Eventually, Bokuto pulls Keiji's hand away, pressing a feather-light kiss against his knuckles in apology. "Sorry. Didn' wanna not say it, and I was gonna make it all romantic and sappy because I know you secretly love that stuff, but. Like. I kinda chickened out and I kindaaa wish I didn't but it's too late, so I said it now and--"

Keiji wrestles free of Bokuto's grip to shut him up again-- this time with a kiss. A proper one. "I love you too," he breathes, pulling away. 

"I!!! Really?"

Keiji laughs. "Yes. I really do, Bokuto-san."

"Sooo…"

"Yes?"

Bokuto smiles, and it's so soft, so precious. "Can you call me by my name now, Keiji? My first name?"

Keiji sputters, feels heat flood his face. He's always called him 'Bokuto-san' because doing otherwise felt so… intimate. Sure, they've been dating for a while, but…

"Please, Keiji?"

The battle is lost. "...Koutarou."

Keiji buries his face in his hands, while Bo--  _ Koutarou _ \-- cheers and whoops like he's won Nationals,  _ and _ been crowned top ace in one fell swoop. Keiji can't look him in the eye. He fishes his phone from his pocket and checks the time. "You'll be late," he mutters. "Go on, I'll see you when you get back."

"Say it again." Koutarou beams at him, not moving a millimeter. 

Keiji sighs. "Koutarou."

Koutarou pecks him one last time. "See ya next week, Keiji," he says.

Keiji watches until he's out of sight.

The warmth blooming in his heart makes him afraid to know how he'll fare without it-- but if he's lucky--  _ very lucky _ \-- he won't ever have to.

He can't help feeling like this was a permanent goodbye, but he buries the sentiment underneath,  _ he loves me, he loves me, he loves me. _

  
_ He loves me _ , Keiji repeats to himself, a record that's broken, a track on loop.  _ He loves me. _


	4. A Year Gone By

Winter comes and goes. The term's final exams are terrible, but provide plenty of excuses for studying with Koutarou, for extra time together and reviewing late enough for whoever is the guest for the night to have to sleepover.

The cold means cuddling close to share heat, means playing in the snow, means Christmas dates and KFC and light shows Koutarou drags Keiji to with a bribe of more chicken. 

Keiji would have gone even without it, but he's not about to turn down free food.

Koutarou and the other third-years still join them for Nationals, but for all intents and purposes, he declares, Keiji is captain. Except officially, of course. Keiji doesn't mind. Not in the slightest. 

The games are hard, but Keiji is reminded how much Koutarou loves him-- when he falls apart, Koutarou picks him up, puts him together and spurs him on. He proves himself as mighty as Keiji has always known him to be, even without Keiji to guide him.

It's bittersweet, that. Koutarou doesn't need him anymore. 

That's all right. Keiji is happy for him.

He really is.

/////

Graduation day is pure chaos. Keiji wakes as early as if it were his own ceremony, shows up at the Bokuto home to help wrangle Koutarou into his uniform and out the door on time. He also keeps up a steady stream of distraction; Koutarou can't show up, red-eyed and frazzled from crying, before the event has even begun.

He has to fend off Koutarou's many, many attempts to rip the second button from his shirt. It's a waste of a good shirt and button, Keiji insists, and anyway, he could at least wait until the ceremony and pictorials are over. He should look presentable. Keiji pretends to be far more bothered than he is about the whole thing.

During the ceremony itself, Koutarou is sitting near the front, fidgeting in his seat because he has never been still for so long. Keiji knows that when he goes up to accept his diploma, the uniform Keiji had so carefully arranged will be unkempt and loosened. His vision is blurry with tears, and he wipes them away with the heel of his palm. If Koutarou looks back and sees him, there will be no stopping him from crying too. Keiji must be proud. He is proud-- even if he is sad too. But Koutarou must not see the second thing.

At the end of it all, Koutarou hoots to anyone who will hear about how he did it, he graduated, he's so excited to move and he's gonna show Keiji everywhere, and  _ hey, did you know, Keiji is gonna be a great captain because he learned from me _ !

Keiji says, "Koutarou, I have always done your captainly duties. I know them better than you do."

There's laughter, and a great deal of squawking about betrayal, and  _ read the mood, Keiji! _

Keiji pecks him on the cheek and laces their hands together. He holds on tight.

_ Please _ , he prays, to whatever gods might hear.  _ Please don't take him away from me _

/////

Summer goes by in a montage of sleepovers and ice cream dates and nasty thoughts caused by missing shirts that Keiji tucks carefully away in the back of his mind lest Koutarou take advantage. (The effort is in vain; Koutarou somehow  _ knows _ , and he's impossible to resist.)

The days move slow but not slow enough, stick to the cement and their skin like melted caramel, but it's not enough to stop them from coming apart--

Koutarou's mouth tastes more sour than ever-- lemonade, but all the sugar has been used up. Keiji drinks it anyway.

/////

The next fall is odd, for Keiji. He braces himself out of habit, but never gets tackled, or swept into an embrace too high off the ground, or yelled at until his ears ring.

The hallways seem bigger. The gym feels hollower. Keiji feels…

Lonelier.

At least now, he thinks, he will get to leave practice on time. They look over the first years and set them to drills again, try to figure out who will fill what spots in the gap that graduation has left. At least now, he thinks, he can do his homework early, like he used to. At least now…

At least now, Keiji knows for certain that he loves Koutarou. Why else would he miss him so much?

/////

He visits Koutarou when he can, and they talk often, through text, through Skype. But it isn't the same by a long shot. Not when just a few months ago, every hour, every day, had been so full of Koutarou and his beaming smile.


	5. Winter

"Tada!" Koutarou unlocks the door and shoulders it open, making jazz hands towards the space of his apartment. Keiji doesn't bother to fight the smile that comes.

"I've missed you," Keiji says, because it's true. He's missed the silly gestures and the simple joy and--

Everything, really.

"I missed you too," Koutarou chirps. He ushers him inside. "Come on, come on, you gotta see--"

Keiji lets himself be led into a living room that's surprisingly neat, apart from a handful of papers spread out over the dining table and an empty soda can lying on its side on the kitchen counter. Koutarou is chattering away about his roommate--  _ a guy from Miyagi _ , says Koutarou,  _ one who actually knows Sawamura, would you believe it? Small world! _

Apparently, it's his roommate that helps to keep things relatively tidy. "He's really nice, Keiji," Koutarou says. He continues with the short tour, heading down the small hallway with Keiji trailing behind him. He throws open a door that he proclaims to be his own and grins. "He helps me a lot! Like you used to!"

Keiji's brow furrows, but he straightens it out almost immediately. Before Koutarou can even notice it's there.  _ Used to _ . Keiji knows it's temporary, but the distance hurts him all the same. He wants to be the one to care for Koutarou. He wants to be the one to remind him to clean after himself, to knock him down a peg when he needs it, to boost him up when he gets in a slump.

Up until recently, that's exactly what he'd done. He does what he can, of course, but their schedules clash far more than they used to, and there's only so much a video or voice call can transmit. It can't carry a hug, a touch of a hand. It can't be there even when you don't realize you need it. Not like a physical presence can.

"I still help you plenty," Keiji says, stubbornly, though he makes it as deadpan as he is able. Like it's a joke, same as he always used to make. "Just last week I had to nag you into doing your homework. Though you're certainly old enough to not require it."

"But  _ Keiiiijiiii _ ," Koutarou whines. It does not move Keiji, who sets his frown a little firmer. "I missed you!!!" Softer, he adds, "I always do."

Keiji sighs. "The same is true for me, Koutarou. But that's no reason to procrastinate your work." He steps close, and wraps his arms around his boyfriend, a rare show of affection on his behalf-- rare enough that Koutarou freezes for a good two seconds before returning it in full force, a little too tight, a little too suffocating…

But so, so very loving. So very  _ Koutarou  _ in the best of ways.

"It's weird," Koutarou tells him, as they pull away, thought their arms linger around each other, like they can't bear to let go completely. "You used to know everything about me. But now it's like…" He blinks, rapidly, choking on his next words as he struggles not to cry. Keiji doesn't need to know what he's saying to understand it. The  _ lack _ that ironically weighs so heavy on them both.

"Well, that just means there's more for us to talk about." The ache in Keiji's chest is less painful than it is hollow; it feels like a cavern where he ought to have a human, beating heart. He beats the feeling back, shoves it as far back into his mind as he is able. 

He smiles, shaky and uncertain, but firm enough for Koutarou to believe, if he does it with all his heart.

Koutarou does everything with all his heart. That is who he is.

Koutarou brightens up at the words. "You're so smart, Keiji," he chirps. He loves talking. Always has.

As he spins tall tales of people Keiji has never met, of places Keiji has never been-- the cavern grows deeper.

/////

Keiji has just opened his phone to confirm the time Koutarou's train will arrive today when he realizes that they text a lot less than they used to.

It's not a revelation he's happy about, much less one he actively seeked out; it just so happened that he barely had to scroll to find the text he'd needed. Before, he would have had to go through at least five screens of idle thoughts and emojis before locating the important information.

As they wander around the city together, enjoying the light displays and other Christmas festivities, Keiji battles with himself for hours before he brings it up in conversation.

" _ Really _ ?" Koutarou blinks at him. "I text you all the time though! Like last week, about that giant beetle I--"

"Koutarou," Keiji cuts in, holding up a hand to stop his tirade. "What beetle?"

"You don't remember? Keijiiiieeeee that's  _ mean _ !"

"There's nothing to remember!" Keiji huffs, his temper getting the best of him. He hates this: the distance between them that suffocates all the words he'd never  _ had  _ to say before. He didn't know the shape of them well enough to make his lips and tongue form them. How could he, when once, a glance or a fleeting touch would have sufficed?

He hates even more the way Koutarou looks at him, wounded, like Keiji hasn't been putting all his effort into reaching for Koutarou even over the kilometers between them. Like Keiji hasn't always paid meticulous attention to every syllable from Koutarou's mouth, catalogued them in his mind until the late hours of the night because they mattered  _ so much  _ to him.

Like Keiji is somehow to blame for the fact that he doesn't know what Koutarou never told him.

"Oh…" Koutarou murmurs, head ducked to frown at his phone. "I guess I didn't." He tucks the device away, and Keiji hears him sniffle; with a sigh, Keiji holds out a hand.

"Come here."

Koutarou does, slumping into Keiji, embracing him tightly. "I didn't mean to," Koutarou croaks, all guilt and remorse. Keiji feels the same. He squeezes Koutarou's shoulders.  _ He hadn't meant to snap _ : a message conveyed in the silence.

"I didn't mean to," Koutarou says again. "I thought I did. I tell you everything! Don't I?"

_ You used to. _

"Yes, Koutarou. It's all right," Keiji tells him anyway, pulling back to peck his forehead and offer him a quirk of his lips. "Sometimes life gets busy, or things slip our minds. It's just how things go."

Koutarou hiccups, and Keiji begins to walk, guiding him toward the conbini they used to frequent. He'll want water, after all. Koutarou always did get thirsty after being upset. "I don't want things to go that way!"

"Neither do I," Keiji admits. "I'm certain we can prevent it, though. After all, we're one of the top 5 aces in this region and his setter--" Keiji's eyes crinkle with the force of his smile. "Surely we can manage something so small as keeping in touch."

The smile is empty. Keiji's stomach is at his feet. He wants it so bad… but evidence points to him losing it, regardless of his desires. But maybe if he wills it hard enough… just maybe, it will come true.

/////

**Conversation with: Koutarou**

Gottta go, keiji! Got a party.

Talk to you later! ♡♡♡♡♡

(Received 1/5/2013)

How was your day, Koutarou?

(Read 8:03 pm)

/////

Keiji frowns down at his screen. It's unlike Koutarou to read his texts and not reply.

Not to mention, it's been happening more and more lately. Texts that previously, would have been answered in a matter of seconds, regardless of whether Koutarou should have been in class, now took hours. Sometimes, they got ignored entirely, forgotten in place of some urgent story about people Keiji knew only because Koutarou mentioned them so very often.

This time is particularly concerning, though. It's been three days, and Koutarou's been eerily silent.

He fidgets. He wonders if he shouldn't send a follow-up message. Ask if he is all right.

Or perhaps, Keiji should pretend it didn't happen? Bid him a good evening instead?

Why does everything feel so pathetic?

_ No _ .  _ No, that's selfish _ . Koutarou might be having a downswing, in which case he should call--

But if that were the case, Koutarou would have contacted him himself. Or his roommate would have dialled. That was usually what happened.

So maybe…

Keiji texts Ikejiri instead, to ask if Koutarou has been all right. He claims that he might visit soon as a surprise and wants to know if he should prepare something to cheer Koutarou up. He feels guilty for lying, but he knows no other way to keep the fact of his asking from Koutarou. He refuses to have Koutarou reach out from pity, if at all.

Ikejiri tells him that Koutarou is doing fine.

Keiji doesn't text either of them further. The message stays on read, even two weeks later.

/////

As January melds into February, the sun once again remembers to smile down on them. The chill fades enough that Keiji feels it's acceptable to play outside. 

He calls for a team bonding session at a nearby park. A picnic, he tells them. Bring a dish each, and a ball if you like.

It won't be as chaotic as most of the past team outings had been, he muses, but the pain of that has long since faded out.

Koutarou had been fleeting. First loves rarely lasted, especially ones found in high school. Keiji knows hanging onto it will only hurt himself, so he's let it go.

Mostly, anyway. These things do take time.

Keiji arrives at the park to find Onaga already there, along with two of the first-years: Toyonaga and Nakazawa. Keiji sets his onigiri and thermos of tea next to their contributions, watching as the first-years struggle with some sort of… contraption.

"It's a portable badminton net," Onaga explains, reaching for a riceball. Keiji swats him away, narrowing his eyes. 

"Wait for everyone," he warns, though he itches to take one himself. As captain, he must set an example. And if he isn't eating yet, no one is.

Onaga's expression is a mix of bemusement and offense, but he simply continues, "Toyonaga brought it. They think if we're careful to avoid hitting it for the most part, we can use it as a makeshift volleyball net." He doesn't make another attempt at getting food, though, so Keiji relaxes.

He snorts, softly enough only Onaga hears. "Don't they get enough of that at practice?" He asks, watching as the pair finishes with the net, testing its sturdiness and then celebrating when it doesn't collapse. Keiji bites back a smile.

"Guess not."

"Akaashi-senpai!" chirps Nakazawa, digging out a weathered ball from his knapsack. "Would you set for me? Toyonaga wants to block."

Keiji considers. He isn't sure how they can really block, considering the net isn't all that tall or broad, but... "Sure." He stands, shedding his coat and scarf, and joins Nakazawa on one side of the net.

After pulling off a couple spikes, Nakazawa is eyeing Keiji with something that feels dangerously like admiration. "What is it?" He asks, a little wary.

"You're a really good setter, senpai!" Nakazawa says, practically bouncing with what Keiji would hope isn't a new revelation. He hasn't been a starter on the Fukurodani team for two years because he was  _ mediocre _ . "Man, I can't believe I get to work with the same setter as one of the top 5 aces did! Bokuto-san was in the top 5, wasn't he? I wish I'd gotten to play with him more."

Keiji blinks. A dull,  _ oh _ , echoing in his mind. You see, letting go is a process, and Keiji hasn't finished it. So like reflex, at the reminder, his mind clings on ever tighter to the idea of Ko-- Bokuto.

He misses him.

He misses him  _ so much _ .

Nakazawa's smile slips. "Senpai?" He looks confused. Keiji should say something. Change the topic after agreeing, because it isn't like he can deny the facts.

But all he can manage is, "Yes, he was. Playing with him was…" he trails off without meaning to, and can't be bothered to finish. "Excuse me." He mutters an excuse about getting a bottle of water from the vending machine. He turns and walks away.

He can hear Onaga saving him, picking up where he left off, distracting the kohai with anecdotes about their wild, often ridiculous ace and captain. He brushes off their concern for Keiji smoothly, too. Answers them just enough so they don't pry, without actually telling them much.

Keiji  _ does _ make it to the vending machine, to his credit. Though he realizes only upon reaching it that he's left his wallet behind.

Either way, he didn't have plans to actually get anything, so it's fine. He just needs…

He needs to let Bokuto go, honestly, but since that isn't happening any time soon, he'll settle for some space to mope.

He stands there for a good while. He mourns the loss of golden sunshine eyes, of the maple-sweet rumble of laughter. He grasps at his own hands, a paltry substitute for Bokuto's. His own fingers are too long, too cold, when Bokuto's had always been warmer than the soft hoodie Keiji had often stolen from him.

He misses the cadence of Bokuto's voice chattering away beside him, misses the dips and peaks of his moods-- for all that they sometimes troubled him, they made Bokuto so easy to read, so easy to  _ love _ . How could you not love someone, when they fearlessly bore their heart to you?

But most of all… most of all Keiji misses quiet nights tucked together. He misses that reassurance, that anchor that Bokuto had been for him more than everyone else.

He wonders, idly, if he even crosses Bokuto's mind anymore.

"Akaashi-san."

Onaga smiles shakily at him. "Your wallet," he says.

Keiji thanks him.

Bokuto's name doesn't come up again.


	6. Spring Again

Keiji's alarm rings at exactly six in the morning, a gentle piano tune spilling from his phone's tinny speaker and nudging him into the realm of consciousness.

He wakes slowly. His body feels heavy, like he hasn't used it in years. There's an awful taste in his mouth. He feels simultaneously like he's slept far too much, and like he wants to go back to bed.

Pushing himself up to sitting, he glances at the calendar on his wall. It's spring. The day of the third-year's graduation. Of course.

It had all been a dream. That's all.

The dregs of it are heavy in his heart. Even a task so menial as making his bed feels hollow, an echo of the longing he'd felt in his slumber. It doesn't make sense.

He hadn't really lost anything at all. Why should he ache so much?

With a click of his tongue, Keiji sets about getting ready for the day. He can worry about shaking off the daze later, he supposes.

/////

The ceremony crawls by, formal and solemn, too many students for Keiji to count climbing the stage and then climbing down. When it finally finishes, Keiji files out along with the rest of the other second and first-year club members to await their senpai.

Komi is out first, whooping loudly enough that a few parents shoot him looks. Some are amused, others annoyed; Keiji tries to appear the latter, but he doubts he succeeds, if the grin Komi is shooting him is any indication.

The other three third-years emerge soon after, and Keiji braces himself for the farewell he knows is coming.

"Hey, come on, we aren't dying," Konoha jokes, poking at Toyonaga. The first-year looks ready to sob. "Why the grim faces?"

"Speak for yourself," Sarukui says, teasing. "I might die under the weight of my classes."

"That's what you get for choosing engineering," Komi tells him, stretching up to ruffle his hair.

Keiji watches them with fondness, but he can't help but look for… Bokuto. Broad shoulders, steady hands. A supernova grin and an earth-shaking laugh. Hair streaked gray, an owl's horns--

How can it be that, even hours after waking, Keiji still longs for him? He doesn't exist. He knows this.

How could someone so outlandish, so ideal… be reality?

Washio shakes his head, skirting around the squabbling trio to smile at Keiji. The sight stops everyone else in their tracks-- even Keiji, where he's struggling to get his mind on track, and out of his dream. It isn't a common happenstance, after all. "You'll do well as captain, Keiji."

"Jeez," Konoha mutters, coming up beside Washio. "You're stealing my thunder! I'm supposed to be the cool one, right?" He turns to Keiji, flashing a smile of his own. "You take care of my team, you hear, Akaashi?"

Keiji nods. "Of course, Konoha-san." He'll do his best. He worries, of course. Konoha had been a good captain, for all that he didn't stand out, and Washio had been a reliable vice, always there to offer tips and guidance. Keiji hoped he could be as helpful, but…

"Hey," Washio says, cutting through his thoughts with a heavy hand on Keiji's shoulder. "You'll be fine. You'll be a great captain."

_ Not as great as me, he jokes, but still great. The team trusts you. And I do too! _

Bokuto was nothing but a dream. A figment of his own lonely mind.

But still, the memory (can it be called that?) Brings him comfort.

The team trusts him. That's certainly true.

He takes a deep breath and lets it go. His mouth curls in a smile. "I'll do my best."

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr/twitter @theauthorish


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